From the Email Group: A True Flue Vaccine?

I received this from Jessie...

Miss Beatrice, The church organist, was in her eighties and had never been married. She was admired for her sweetness and kindness to all.
One afternoon the pastor came to call on her and she showed him into her quaint sitting room. She invited him to have a seat while she prepared tea. As he sat facing her old Hammond organ, The young minister noticed a cute glass bowl sitting on top of it.

The bowl was filled with water, and in the water Floated, of all things, a condom!
When she returned with tea and scones, they began to chat. The pastor tried to stifle his curiosity about the bowl of water and its strange floater, but soon it got the better of him and he could no longer resist.

'Miss Beatrice', he said, “I wonder if you would tell me about this?” pointing to the bowl.

“Oh, yes,” she replied, “Isn't it wonderful? I was walking through the park a few months ago and I found this little package on the ground. The directions said to place it on the organ, keep it wet and that it would prevent the spread of disease. Do you know I haven't had the flu All winter.”

I don't know what this means...

What a wonderful world.

Flowers make any room more comfortable, more like home.

There is a picture on the mantel of Parker and me. I love his smile but I hate his eyebrows. I want him to get them arched. But they aren’t my eyebrows. I have never had my eyebrows arched. I love my eyebrows. They are naturally well kept.

President Obama wears make-up to hide his blemishes and his age. Why can’t I?

Parker and I are doing so well. Every day I look forward to coming home and seeing him. I anticipate his kiss, I anticipate his arms.

I wonder how many men wear make-up that I know.

Tonight feels icy. My hands and feet are cold. I am hungry. I ate an apple for an evening snack. It’s gone already. I know it’s gone because I flushed it.

My grandmother, the center of my family, the rock of my life, may have cancer again. I don’t feel confident about this. I don’t feel confident about this at all.

Tonight feels icy. Flowers make any room more comfortable but tonight, I am disconcerted. I am not comfortable in this room and I am writing this. My hands are cold and I am hungry and I am worried. I am very worried.

What a wonderful world. There is a painting above the mantel my ex-Michael gave to me of trees and a sweeping landscape. I love landscape paintings. I love trees. They are symbolic. I feel symbolic. I see the symbolism in things. I see the underlying meanings in things. I always have. In most things I always have. I don’t see the symbolism in my grandmother having cancer. I don’t see the symbolism in cancer. I don’t see the symbolism in this post. I see the symbolism in trees. I love trees.

A poem as the month draws to a close...

The poem below is by renowed contemporary poet, Carl Philips. This is for you, Bronze Buckaroo.

When the Famous Black Poet speaks,
I understand

that his is the same unnervingly slow
rambling method of getting from A to B
that I hated in my father,
my father who always told me
don't shuffle.

The Famous Black Poet is
speaking of the dark river in the mind
that runs thick with the heroes of color,
Jackie R., Bessie, Billie, Mr. Paige, anyone
who knew how to sing or when to run.
I think of my grandmother, said
to have dropped dead from the evil eye,
of my lesbian aunt who saw cancer and
a generally difficult future headed her way
in the still water
of her brother's commode.
I think of voodoo in the bottoms of soup-cans,
and I want to tell the poet that the blues
is not my name, that Alabama
is something I cannot use
in my business.

He is so like my father,
I don't ask the Famous Black Poet,
afterwards,
to remove his shoes,
knowing the inexplicable black
and pink I will find there, a cut
gone wrong in five places.
I don't ask him to remove
his pants, since that too
is known, what has never known
a blade, all the spaces between,
where we differ . . .

I have spent years tugging
between my legs,
and proved nothing, really.
I wake to the sheets I kicked aside,
and examine where they've failed to mend
their own creases, resembling some silken
obstruction, something pulled
from my father's chest, a bad heart,
a lung,

the lung of the Famous Black Poet
saying nothing I want to understand.

The world moves so fast today...

Some days are slower than others. Some days, people are slower than others.
I think one of my greatest flaws is my impatience. I am rarely standing at parade rest. The world spins quickly on its axis and I spin just as swiftly. Well, today I was spinning away, but it seems like I was the only one.

I went to the post office, thinking it would be an in and out situation since all I had to do was buy stamps. Well, the location I selected (Little Five Points) had no machines inside the post office. When I arrived, three people were in line. I was told to go across the street to the drug store and buy my stamps there. I left the post office only to find that the drug store was out of stamps. I returned to find the line had double from three people to six. I had to wait in line… for forty minutes. There was only one worker behind the counter. When only one customer stood in front of me, I sighed a breathe of relief only to wait… and wait.. and wait. The one customer, an older gentleman, wearing dungaroos, wanted to know how he could retrieve certified mail without the certified flyer. The answer is simple, dunghead… you cannot.

Simple, problem solved, right? Wrong. The nice little lady behind the counter called some special office, was on hold for twenty minutes, got transferred several times, and was then told… you guessed it… no… you cannot retrieve certified mail without the certified flyer.

Later in the day, I head to SchoolBox (a school supply store to purchase an ezgrader) only to stand at the counter for twenty minutes as a nicer little old lady rings up my ONE EZXGRADER and charges me TEN DOLLARS. She rang the grader up three times and had to wait on a manager to correct the problem. Needless to say, I will never visit either of the aforementioned locals again.

I think maybe some of these people had moms like the one I saw Monday night.

So we went to the show last night...

So… we went to the show last night and there was a group of straight women with one gay man. One of the women in the group was clearly pregnant and was drunk out of her mind. I was mortified. I don’t know if anyone would believe it unless you saw it.

Why haven’t I written since last week?

Can I really answer that question? What would be the consequence of answering that question?

What would you do if your lover gave away a gift you purchased for him or her?

Does love mean to sacrifice?

Is your happiness more important to you or is your lover’s happiness more important? At what point does your answer change?

Was Whitney drunk at the Grammys?

Have you ever felt like "Chris Browning" your lover?

This Ain't No Picadilly! (Should I find this is funny?)

This article was posted on wsbtv.com!
Tuesday, February 3, 2009 – updated: 4:37 pm EST February 3, 2009

COBB COUNTY, Ga. -- Cobb County police said a teacher was arrested and resigned from the school district after she allegedly slapped a student’s arm for taking an extra piece of pizza.

Angela Franklin, a special education teacher at Fair Oaks Elementary School, was charged with simple battery after she allegedly slapped the 11-year-old special education student's arm and said, 'This ain't no Piccadilly.'

Franklin was previously investigated by the Memphis City Schools and suspended after she allegedly slapped a student across the face for not moving her desk when asked. Cobb County school officials said Franklin did not disclose the previous investigation or the fact she had received an unsatisfactory performance evaluation from that school system.
Franklin resigned her position Jan. 7 after the charges came to light. She had been employed by Fair Oaks since Aug. 2007.

Franklin was released on $1,000 bond and is scheduled to appear in court March 13.